A Second Tragedy
by Katie Grey
Summary: Albus cannot bear to see the Wizarding World crumble around him. There is only one thing he can do, and that is to go back in time and become Ron Weasley. Can go well with my other fic, For the Greater Good. ABANDONED
1. The Worlds that Fall

_All right, this idea may sound a bit weird... But in this story Ron Weasley is a time traveling Albus Dumbledore. I read about this fan theory and just had to write it. So don't give up on this story, it will get better. I have some good ideas planned for this story, so keep on reading! I'm sorry if some things are confusing, but time travel always confuses me, so I'll try to make everything as clear as I can, but it might be hard to understand in some parts._

 _This story can go with my other story: For the Greater Good. It's not a prequel, but they just go nicely together._

 _As always, please review! I'd really love to know what you think of this plot line, and if you have any suggestions or information._

()()()

Albus had always thought that he would die of old age, surrounded by family and friends, and with calming music playing from somewhere that he couldn't quite see. Everyone would have tears in their eyes, silent tears that spoke more than words ever could. They would be sad to see him go, but happy that he had lived life to the fullest, accomplished much, and done everything he could possibly fit into one lifetime.

He wouldn't be sad, or angry, or scared. He would be calm and collected, as he always was. The twinkle in his eyes would be back in full force, at least until his spirit was gone.

Albus had never been afraid of death.

But now that it was staring him in the face, he had to admit, death was a bit terrifying. And there was no music on, no family and friends standing around him, no tears, even. Only a wavering wand, a hundred meter drop straight down, and a boy with platinum-blonde hair.

And there was no one to save him. Harry Potter was dead, Hermione Granger was dead, Sirius Black was dead, Professor McGonagall was dead, Neville Longbottom was missing, but probably dead, Luna Lovegood was dead...

Albus was the last left standing. Of course, he had expected this. He had expected that if things didn't go to plan, he would likely outlive the rest. After all, Albus was the only wizard that the dark lord had ever been afraid of. Albus was the only wizard who could put up a fight against Voldemort.

But how was he supposed to do that wandless, on the edge of a chasm, faced by three dark wizards, one of which was pointing his wand at Albus's face, preparing to perform the killing curse?

"Do it," someone hissed. Albus turned to look. It was Severus. Of course it was Severus. How could Albus have been so foolish as to think that Severus was actually on his side? There had been so many signs: the poison in the cup, the spies... But Albus had believed in him. Had believed that Severus's longing to avenge Lily's death was a good enough reason for him not to turn to the side that was obviously winning. Voldemort's side.

It had been easy enough to see that the light could never win. They had always been outnumbered, had less power and influence, and their leader had been a sixteen year old boy. Surprisingly enough, there was no pang of loss when Albus remembered Harry. Probably because he had seen so much death that he no longer felt the pain.

And now it was his turn.

Draco nodded at Severus and raised his wand higher. It trembled, but Albus had no doubt that as soon as Draco spoke the two words, Albus would be dead. Albus knew why it trembled. Because he had nearly succeeding in saving young Draco's soul, but failed. At least he had left behind a bit of morality in Draco, but obviously not enough to keep him from performing the curse.

Draco swallowed nervously.

"Do it!" Severus repeated. "Oh, never mind. Get out of my way." He pushed Draco to the side and brandished his own wand. Bellatrix, who was next to him, cackled.

Albus's fingers were shaking now. Shaking so much, in fact, that they brushed against something hard, hanging around his neck.

A thrill of hope tingled up Albus's spine. _The time turner!_ He grasped blindly for the little pendant, hanging around his neck. His fingers brushed up against it, and he closed his fist around it.

"Severus, please," he pleaded.

But Severus's eyes were cold, colder than ice.

Albus twisted the time turner.

"Avada Kedavra."

There was nothing.

()()()

Albus swam for a moment in darkness. He couldn't feel anything, he was numb, his very thoughts were silenced. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe.

And then pain washed over him. He choked, gulping in breaths. He couldn't move, couldn't scream. Well, on second thought, he could scream.

His screams echoed all around him. Bounced off the walls and back again, ringing off of the air and the sky. The pain just went on and on, but eventually Albus was able to stop screaming.

He opened his eyes.

He was at the top of the Astronomy Tower. He had rolled around a bit on the ground, and was practically dangling off the edge. He gasped, and moved back. Luckily no one had heard him, in fact, he didn't think anyone was here.

He stood on wobbly legs, trying to ignore the fire that ate at his body. It hurt, god, it hurt. But Albus wasn't one to complain. He braced himself against the wall and peeked over the side...

 _No._

Hogwarts was a ruin. One wall was completely gone, the rest were rubble. The turrets and towers were crumbled and broken. The lake was dry, and the Forbidden Forest looked like it had doubled in size. Hogwarts was being choked by trees and vines. The only part left standing was the Astronomy Tower itself.

Albus was horribly confused for a few moments, until he realized that he must have turned the time turner to the right, which would take him to the future. Most time turners couldn't go even a few minutes into the future, but his was different. It was loaded with magic. He remembered the group of seven powerful wizards and witches, who had all aimed their wands at the tiny object and blasted it with spells and charms until it literally shook with power. And then Cornelius Fudge had handed it to Albus.

"In case you need it," he had said. "After all, if anyone could use it right, it would be you. Everyone knows you would have been a better Minister than I could ever hope to be, and you would have a chance at defeating Voldemort. I only ask, that when the time is right, you will give it to Harry Potter."

But the time had never been right, because Harry had been killed when he was just sixteen. Albus had been greedy, and hadn't given Harry the time turner before then. He had wanted it for himself.

But what to do with it now?

He couldn't very well stay here. How would that help matters? Everyone was dead, Voldemort probably ruled the world... no. He would have to prevent Voldemort from killing Harry in the first place. From rising again at all.

But how? How could he help Harry?

To be honest, Harry had never had all that much help. He had had Hermione, but she was only one person, and could do only so much. There was Neville, and Luna, and Ginny, and Fred and George, and many others, but they weren't all that good at magic. And they had never managed to be with Harry when he needed them. And Albus himself hadn't been there, either. That sent a pang of guilt through Albus's heart, but he ignored it.

Perhaps... Perhaps Albus could become someone, someone who could help Harry. A friend. But who? He couldn't become a new person, someone that hadn't been born yet, because he had already been born once and didn't want to do it again... and the thought was a bit disgusting anyway. Maybe someone who had died young. Then Albus could use Polyjuice, make up a story claiming that they had somehow survived, and then go and help Harry.

And he knew exactly who to be.

 _Ron Weasley._

Ron, the youngest son of Molly and Arthur Weasley, had been trampled by hippogriffs when he was four years old. Molly and Arthur had been devastated. Albus could only hope that they had been devastated enough to preserve one of Ron's hairs. But if they hadn't, there were other ways of changing your appearance.

He wasn't exactly sure how he would pretend to act like Ron, since he had never met the little four-year-old before he died. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Grinning madly, with hope flaring in his chest, Albus twisted the time turner once more.

()()()

The Burrow-from-sixteen-years-ago was small and quaint, but it had maintained that queer aura of magic, and the number of strange whirring things that stood on its shelves. There were quite a lot strange whirring things, Albus noticed, almost as many as in his old office at Hogwarts. There were gadgets that levitated forks, gizmos that could turn any sort of vegetable blue, little trinkets for setting off alarms whenever one of the Weasley's old chickens laid an egg...

However, there were no Weasleys there. Which was awfully strange, considering it was their house, and it was a weekday, and it was evening.

Albus did not feel like turning the time turner again, so he headed upstairs, intending to do some searching for himself. There was some banging from the ghoul in the attic, but a quick silencing spell shut it up. A few doors loomed up ahead, and so he turned the knob on the first.

He was met by a display of pink. Lots and lots of pink.

 _Must be Ginny's room._

And even if it wasn't, he didn't want to stay around. He didn't like pink all that much, although his robes did have little pink pineapples on them, he noted with interest.

The next was clearly Fred and George's, because he was met with an onslaught of fireworks and a bucket of water, and something kept on repeating, "Sticky spray! Sticky spray!" over and over. He shut the door, with difficulty.

He sighed when he realized there were at least four more doors. The Weasleys did have a lot of children. He remembered watching them all die, one by one, and vowed silently to himself that he would not let that happen again.

The next room had dust on the handle. There were no gaudy decorations on the door, no paper signs reading, "Keep out!" or, "No boys allowed!" There was just a whole lot of wood door.

Albus straightened his beard unconsciously, smoothed out any wrinkles in his robes, and opened the door.

There was a little bed, untouched and dusty, with pristine blankets and pillow. A small stuffed elephant lay on the side of the bed, with floppy ears and a fat trunk. There was a little dresser with a few toys on top, a lamp with trains on it, and a child's Quidditch broomstick.

Albus examined the pillow, and was relieved to find a few small fiery red hairs on it. He pocketed them, and apparated with a resounding, "Crack!"

And then everything was still.

()()()

The cauldron gurgled and bubbled hungrily. The frothing potion swallowed the red hairs into itself, and Albus grinned. The potion was done.

For a month he had been living at Hogwarts, specifically in the dungeons. He was pleased to find that Severus's quarters were quite comfortable, and he had all of the ingredients that Albus needed for the Polyjuice potion.

He had used the time turner to stop time so that he could work in peace, without anyone finding him. It took a great deal of magic to stop time, and he could feel that the spell was wavering. He didn't have that much time.

He grabbed a flask and dunked it into the cauldron. Olive green liquid with suspicious chunks in it spilled into the flask. Albus barely hesitated before gulping it all down.

For a few seconds he was afraid that it hadn't worked, but then the table started getting taller. He grinned. That meant he was shrinking.

Soon he was about three feet tall, and about to drown in his robes, the ones with the pink pineapples. He felt horribly exposed without his beard, but he liked his hair. It was nice and soft, and best of all, it was a flaming red. It looked like his head was on fire, he discovered when he glanced in a mirror. He rather liked that. He looked like a human torch. His features were childish and round, and he had chubby cheeks. He looked, all in all, adorable.

He put on the small child's robes he had brought and apparated to the Burrow.

()()()

 _Thanks for reading, please review! It only takes a second, but it is so helpful!_


	2. The Lies We Tell

_Wow, two reviews in one hour! That may not sound like a lot, but I hardly ever get any reviews, so thanks so much to James Birdsong and Kaitiou for reviewing! I am so glad that you both liked it._

 _I am really excited about this story, and the words just seem to flow from my brain onto the paper, so I wrote you guys another chapter!_

 _And I forgot the disclaimer in the first chapter... (Which I do a lot)_

 ** _Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize._** _I do, however, own Pauline Rose Pringle and any new characters or spells or things that I invent._

 _Thanks again for reading, and please review! Reviews feed my muse and get me writing!_

()()()

April 12, 1984.

Pauline Rose Pringle was extremely angry. Hugely pissed off. Enormously cross. Horribly vexed. Extraordinarily irked.

First, her idiot kid sister had spilled butterbeer all over Pauline's new robes. And then, some stupid muggles had decided to throw eggs at their house, which wasn't a problem because she could use magic to clean it, but _still_. And then, her father had to go and get himself stabbed by a cactus on the very same day that he was supposed to take her to France.

 _Brilliant, just peaky._

And _now_ , she had to go let the stupid hippogriffs into their fenced in little plot of land. The blundering idiots were all snapping at each other like siblings, and were all stumbling over their own wings. She screamed at them to move, and once they were all inside the gate she concentrated all of her fury into slamming the gate shut.

And she stormed away, about to head to St. Mungo's to give her father a piece of her mind. "How _dare_ he go get himself impaled!" she screamed.

Her sister was the only one who saw the gate slowly swing open, but by then it was too late.

()()()

Albus watched, horrified, as the cloud of dust got bigger and bigger. Soon, he knew, the stampede would emerge from over the hill and trample the small child playing in the dirt a few meters away. Albus couldn't bear to watch, but he couldn't bear to turn away, either.

Molly was humming softly to herself inside the house as she burned the pancakes. Arthur was undoubtedly away on Ministry business. Fred and George were exploding things in their room – _Already! When they're only five! -_ Charlie and Bill were at Hogwarts, and Percy was further down the hill, writing something or other.

But Albus only had eyes for the child in front of him.

Ron was small, and innocent. He looked exactly like Albus did now, but was completely different. He was four, he was a child, and he acted like one. But there was something about him that made you want to rush over and pull him into a hug, although Albus couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He wanted to run over and push Ron out of the way, or scream for him to run. But he shouldn't, he knew he shouldn't. If Ron did survive, who knew if he would become friends with Harry anyway? If he would help Harry at all? The Wizarding World would most likely still fall, and everything would be the same. There was only the slimmest of chances that Ron would turn out to be a hero, and Albus wasn't about to take that chance.

There also was the fact that saving Ron could lead to unexpected consequences. Albus wasn't all that experienced with the way that time worked, so there was always a chance that saving someone who would supposed to die could destroy time, or life, or everything. Or that if the real Ron survived he might become a Death Eater, or a hippogriff farmer, and neither of those were particularly good ways to help the-boy-who-lived.

So Albus had to watch as Ron Weasley died.

Molly had a frown on her face, and looked like she was about to yell for Percy and Ron to come inside, when there was a huge explosion from upstairs. The windows shattered, and Molly stormed up the steps. Albus could hear her yelling at Fred and George until her yells were drowned out by the thundering hooves. Percy squealed and ran inside, but Ron, who didn't know any better, stayed out. Albus was irritated that Percy hadn't thought to bring Ron inside. Apparently he wasn't any more selfless fifteen years ago than he had been when Albus last saw him, which was when Percy became a Death Eater.

No, this wasn't fifteen years ago, this was now.

Albus swallowed and turned his head away as the hippogriffs thundered down the hill. They beat their wings but didn't lift off, just kept on coming.

There was a short, small, scream.

Albus looked.

Ron Weasley lay on the ground, dead. The hippogriffs flocked around him, their sweating bodies glistening. Albus saw a few glimpses of fiery red hair, but the hippogriffs were blocking his view.

 _Good._

That meant that Molly couldn't see.

Albus cast a quick Protection Spell and walked straight into the middle of the stampede. He gently lifted up Ron's body and floated it over behind a tree, where he cast a few spells to keep anyone from seeing it. He would move it later. He wished that he could just destroy the body, but he would need Ron's hairs to make the Polyjuice potion, as much as he wished he didn't.

And then the hippogriffs were gone down the other side of the hill. Albus curled in on himself, trying to look as small and helpless as possible. He flicked his fingers and tears appeared on his cheeks. He couldn't risk using a wand, because no normal four-year-old would know how to use one, and someone might see.

Then Molly was running out of the house, followed by Fred and George and Ginny and Percy. They were all screaming and shouting, and then they gathered around Albus and clamored for him to get up, and were asking questions all at once. Albus was a bit overwhelmed, but figured that the real Ron would have been used to this sort of thing, so tried not to show it.

But then there was a scream.

Albus shot to his feet, about to grab for his wand. Thankfully, he didn't.

It was a teenage girl scrambling down the hill. She was a boring sort of girl, with brown braids and a plump face. Behind her came an older, even more boring girl, with browner, straighter braids and an even fatter face. They were both shouting and waving their hands.

"Oh, darlings, what on earth happened?" Molly cried, gathering the girls into a hug and holding them in a motherly sort of way.

The smaller one spoke. "The... the hippogriffs got out, and I was so scared. Do you know where they are?" she asked, pulling back and staring Molly in the face.

Albus glanced up, and saw a flock of hippogriffs flying at top speed in the opposite direction that they had just been going when they trampled Ron. "Look!" he cried, pointing. He was surprised to find that his voice was squeaky and high-pitched, but no one else noticed, so he realized that this must be how Ron's voice sounded.

"Oh, it's all right, dears. They're just up there. Now, would you like some pancakes? They're a bit burned, but I'm sure you'll find that they're delicious."

As Molly and the two girls entered the house, Ginny turned to Albus. She was small and slender, and she was adorable. She had a little button nose, and curly red hair, and the sweetest of blue eyes.

"I'm so glad you're all right!" she squeaked. "I was so scared."

"Don't worry," Albus replied. "I'm just fine."

He glanced over at Ron's body, and a guilty feeling settled in his stomach. But he knew that he had to do this. He just couldn't let anyone know.

So he followed Ginny into the Burrow.

()()()

Albus downed another cup of potion. It would be a good idea to drink a lot, because he wasn't sure when he would be able to drink it again.

"Ron! Are you ready yet?" Molly shouted up the stairs. There was a lot of shouting in this house, but Albus was used to it now.

It had been seven years.

"Yes!" he screamed back.

"Come on down, then!"

He tightened his tie one last time, frowning at the shabbiness of his robes. He was used to the highest quality material, and robes with pink pineapples, not drab brown and grays with patches to cover the holes. But he wasn't one for complaining. He had learned not to complain when he couldn't have seconds, or when something broke and it couldn't be replaced.

Molly handed him the jar of Floo powder, and Albus flooed to King's Cross station. He had to wait a while for the rest of the Weasleys to arrive, since there were so many.

Then they arrived at the platform.

He felt nervous. Just like last time. The last time he had arrived at the platform, about to begin his first year at Hogwarts. Except this wasn't his first year. But he was still nervous.

"Not sure how to get on the platform? It's all right, dear." He heard Molly say. He glanced up, and saw who she was speaking to.

 _Harry._

Harry, back when he was alive and innocent and oh-so-small. His glassed were broken, and slightly askew. His hair was disheveled, as always. He looked wary and on-alert, but Albus was used to that. Harry had stopped trusting when Hermione died.

 _Hermione._ Was she here too? Was everyone here? That thought made Albus excited, but sad. Everyone was here that wasn't supposed to be here. Everyone was here that should be long gone.

Albus should be long gone too.

What was he doing? Was this a mistake? Should he have let everything end like it was supposed to?

No, of course not. Everything wasn't supposed to end like that, and if it was, then life was rubbish.

He had done the right thing. He knew it.

Harry was talking to Molly. He looked so scared and familiar that Albus wanted to hug him, and hug him tight. The last time that Albus had hugged Harry had been after Hermione... well, after Hermione died.

He didn't like to think about Hermione's death.

"...Just run straight at the pillar." Molly finished. "Come on, don't be afraid."

"I'm not," Harry replied, grinning. He winked at Albus and hurtled straight at the pillar – and straight through. Albus smiled.

It took ages for all the Weasleys to go through, but finally they were all on the other side. Albus caught a glimpse of Harry boarding the train and ran after him, not wanting to lose sight of him for a second. He finally caught up with him and they sat down next to each other. It was a bit strange to realize that Harry didn't know who he was, so Albus introduced himself.

"Hallo," Albus began. "I'm Ron Weasley."

"I'm Harry Potter." Harry replied. Albus barely remembered that he should be flabbergasted, and although it felt wrong, he tried to sound disbelieving.

" _The_ Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, are there more than one?" Harry asked. Albus almost laughed. Harry had been so ignorant when he first came to Hogwarts. Albus had almost forgotten.

"Do you have, you know, the _scar_?" he asked. He was enjoying this immensely.

Harry grinned and pulled his hair up, revealing the little lightning bolt scar. Albus nearly grimaced, but managed to choke out a feeble, "Awesome."

They munched on chocolate frogs for a little while, and then the door opened.

Albus felt a jolt go through him, like electricity.

It was Hermione. A pang of loss so deep charged through his skull. She was dead. Harry was dead. But she was standing right here, right where she wasn't supposed to be.

But the sadness he felt was greater when he looked at her than when he looked at Harry, and though he knew why, he tried to ignore it and pretend that he didn't know. Pretend that he didn't know what had happened to her. What still _would_ happen to her if Albus didn't do something

"Hallo Her... Who are you?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," she announced. Albus couldn't quite bite back a grin. She was so like the Hermione he knew. A know-it-all, but a nice one. "Blimey, you're Harry Potter!" she cried. "And you are?" she bit her lip, staring at him.

He was completely confused for a second before he remembered that she didn't know him. _Get a grip! You're Ron, not Albus. You don't know these people at all._

"I'm Ron Weasley."

And it felt so strange to lie to Hermione and Harry that he was surprised they couldn't tell that he was shaking on the inside.

()()()

 _Once again, please review! It only takes a second, and the review button smells like cookies. :)_


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